●・○・●・○・●
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
shooting star

—

༇ BAYA doesn't even have time to think about the others. She doesn't know if they made it out or how badly they're hurt— she hasn't spoken to them since before the last game.

But she truly has other things on her mind right now, as selfish as it sounds.

They're still on the hallway floor. Her cheek pressed against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat in her ear, her breath still hitching from all the crying. His arms around her don't loosen, even once.

She opens her mouth once, then shuts it again. The words pile up in her throat, thick and burning, but she doesn't know if they're okay to say out loud. Doesn't know if she's allowed to feel this way.

Finally, she whispers, "Is it wrong?"

Chishiya doesn't move. "Is what wrong?"

"That I want to get rid of it." Her voice cracks on the last word."It's not that I don't want kids. I do. I really do. Just... not like this. Not now. Not his. I wanted kids with you. I already decided that a long time ago. Like... in a few years, maybe, when we were safe and okay and..." Her breath catches again. "But now this is happening, and it's all wrong. The timing. The father. Everything." She buries her face in his chest again. "What if that makes me cruel?"

Chishiya lowers his chin to rest against the top of her head. "It doesn't."

"But I'm supposed to want to protect it," she whispers. "I'm supposed to be that kind of person. I always thought I would be. A good mom. I thought I'd be excited someday. But I'm not. I'm horrified. I want it gone. And I feel guilty for even saying that."

He doesn't rush his reply. She can feel him breathing, feel his mind working in the silence between them. "You're not guilty of anything," he says. "You're not cruel. You don't have to shape your body, or your future, around something you never wanted. Something that was forced on you."

Baya stares at him. Her eyes glisten again. He continues. "The fact that you want children someday doesn't mean you have to carry this one. The fact that you want a family doesn't mean you have to build it from this. That's not love. That's survival, and you've already survived enough."

Baya's eyes spill over again, though this time, the tears are softer. She closes her eyes, breathing him in. He cups her face in both hands. "We'll fix this. And you'll be okay. I promise."

●・○・●・○・●

Later that night, they haven't turned on any lights. Baya sits curled up on the couch with a blanket over her legs, eyes glassy from too much crying. Chishiya sits beside her, the glow of his laptop screen lighting his face.

He types in silence. She watches his fingers move, barely blinking.

He's searched four different terms now. Tried five different websites. Switched the language from Japanese to English, back to Japanese. Sifted through government guidelines, medical reports, clinics, and black market rumors.

Baya fidgets. "Anything yet?"

Chishiya doesn't answer right away. He scrolls further. Clicks another link. Opens a new tab. But she can feel his silence starting to thicken.

"The legal limit for abortion in Japan is twenty-two weeks," he says eventually. "After that, it's banned. Completely illegal. Only exceptions are if the mother's life is in critical danger. And even then, it's rare."

Baya blinks slowly. Her throat tightens. "So...?"

"You're seven months," he murmurs, still staring at the screen. "Roughly twenty-seven weeks. That's considered a viable fetus by most standards. At this stage, they treat it like a person. You're past every legal solution."

She feels like the wind's been knocked out of her. "So that's it?" she asks. "I'm just... stuck?"

Chishiya doesn't answer. He's still scanning every possibility like he might find a miracle hidden in somewhere.

Baya hugs her knees up. "I don't want to meet it. I don't want to name it. I don't want to see it. I don't want to look at it and see him."

"You won't."

She lifts her head.

"We'll figure something out," he says. "If there's no legal option, I'll find another way."

"You mean illegally?"

"If that's what it takes."

Her eyes widen. "That's—Chishiya, you could get arrested if you find me an illegal doctor. You could lose your license. You could go to prison if you help me—"

"I could lose you," he replies, voice flat. She wants to argue, but she doesn't. In the back of her mind, she already knows he's not bluffing. He would do it. He will do it.

Tears well in her eyes again, but she doesn't sob this time. Just looks at him like he's unreal. "But if I'm an exception?"

Chishiya doesn't look away from the screen. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," she swallows, "I was raped. I didn't consent. I was unconscious for seven months. I didn't even know I was pregnant until today. It's not like I had a chance to... stop it."

"There has to be some clause for that," she presses, hope flickering in her voice now. "Some legal exception. I could talk to a hospital. Or a lawyer. Maybe... maybe if they understand it wasn't my fault..."

Chishiya listens in silence. His expression is unreadable, as always.

"You think it's a bad idea," she points out.

"I think," he replies slowly, "it's a smart idea. And if we lived in a system that actually prioritized the victims, I'd tell you to try it." His voice darkens. "But we don't."

Baya leans back into the couch. She stares at the ceiling like it might give her answers. "So if I ask, and they say no..."

"They'll have documentation," Chishiya confirms. "They'll log that you asked. That you considered abortion at a stage when it's no longer legal. So if anything does happen... if the baby suddenly disappears, or anything at all—they'll already have a reason to investigate."

Baya hugs the blanket tighter around herself. Her fingers dig into the fabric. "So I can't ask for legal options. Should we find an illegal doctor? I might still have connections with the black market. Maybe someone happens to owe me. Maybe—"

"We'd need someone skilled enough to handle a late-term surgical abortion," Chishiya cuts in, crisp. "Someone who won't back out last minute, who won't take advantage of you, and who won't report us to the authorities in exchange for immunity."

"Do you know anyone who could do it?"

"No one I trust."

Another silence.

"Should I get something illegal? Pills? Injection?"

That's when Chishiya turns to her sharply. "No," he says. "Absolutely not."

"Why?"

"You're almost thirty weeks. You'd go into labor. You'd bleed out. Your uterus could rupture. You'd lose your ability to have kids forever. You could die, Baya."

Her eyes are glassy again. But she nods. More silence. She doesn't say anything after that. Just curls deeper into the blanket, smaller and smaller, until she looks like she's trying to disappear into it. Chishiya watches her for a long time.

He closes the laptop. The click is soft, but it feels final. When he finally speaks, his voice is calm, quiet, and deadly certain.

"I'll do it."

Baya freezes.

Slowly, her eyes lift to his face. "What?"

"I'll perform the abortion myself," he says. His tone doesn't falter. "I will study as much as I possibly can for the following days. I'll take the equipment home from the hospital and make sure no camera sees me. I'll use another person's card at the hospital. I'll promise you that I'll do whatever it takes and that it'll go perfect."

She stares at him. Her breath starts shaking again. "You could lose your license. You could be arrested—"

"I know that."

She's already crying. Softly this time. The quiet kind. "Why would you do that?"

"I'd rather risk prison," he murmurs, "than let you live with something you didn't ask for." A pause. "But you need to think this through first. I don't want you to regret it once it's done, and you need to make sure you trust me with something like this."

"I do," she says immediately. "I trust you."

Chishiya nods. "I'm guessing I need at least a week to study everything. If at any point, you change your mind, let me know."

"Okay." She also nods.

"I'll run you through every step beforehand," Chishiya promises. "It'll be okay."

"Okay," Baya repeats, once again.

●・○・●・○・●

The next morning, he clicks through various links, anything that might give him the clarity he needs. The internet is full of conflicting advice—none of it really provides the precision he's looking for. So he refines his search. He drills deeper, finding a l video titled "Late-Term Abortion Techniques: A Detailed Approach," uploaded by a medical practitioner. It's not exactly what he had hoped for, but it's the closest he's come to practical advice. He watches the video twice, pausing it to take detailed notes, his pen moving quickly across the page.

He rewinds the video and watches it again, scribbling faster now.

●・○・●・○・●

By the time day two comes, Chishiya has become a machine. He hasn't slept. He hasn't eaten. His eyes are bloodshot from hours spent in front of the screen.

Frustrated by the incomplete information online, he heads to the library.

Chishiya moves quickly through the aisles, hands gliding across the rows of medical texts, searching for anything that might be useful.The books he finds feel ancient in his hands: pages yellowed, their bindings cracked from years of use. Yet they are exactly what he needs.

He tucks the books under his arm and searches for more. Then he finds a quiet corner to begin reading.

The library is still, but Chishiya can feel the swirling urgency that won't let him rest. He flips through the books, making mental notes of key terms, important sections, and diagrams. He writes down the steps for each procedure, highlighting the risks, the dangers, the complications that may arise.

The more Chishiya reads, the more he understands the procedure. But it's not enough. He needs to know it all. He needs to be ready for anything. By the time the library closes, Chishiya has accumulated a mountain of notes.

●・○・●・○・●

Back home, Chishiya can barely keep his eyes open, but there's still work to be done. He returns to the laptop, shifting through articles, reading medical blogs written by doctors, and watching more videos from various sources.

One particular source catches his eye: an video on sedation protocols. The person on screen is explaining how to handle sedatives with a patient under extreme stress. Chishiya takes notes. He's already learned the basics of the procedure, but managing Baya's sedation will be just as important. It's not just the surgical part that he's worried about. It's Baya's emotional state.

Chishiya pushes those thoughts aside for now, focusing instead on the task at hand. By the time the sun begins to set, his house is filled with textbooks, notes, and half-finished coffee cups.

●・○・●・○・●

The following days blur together. Chishiya barely leaves his desk, save for the occasional trip to the library for more books. His pen never stops moving across the pages.

He memorizes the procedures until they become second nature. He watches videos on different techniques, comparing them, noting what each professional does differently. He listens to podcasts where doctors discuss their experiences performing difficult surgeries.

He finds himself retracing the steps again and again in his mind: dilate the cervix, insert the catheter, evacuate the contents. The words grow familiar, and the process becomes clearer.

Baya, despite the fact she feels bad about Chishiya studying so much, leaves him alone. She makes him a big breakfast and dinner every day and tells him to eat lunch at the library. Once he finally lies down in bed, she does whatever she can to let him rest peacefully.

●・○・●・○・●

By day seven, Chishiya knows it all. He has taken detailed notes on every step. He's ready.

Morning bleeds into afternoon, afternoon into night. Time doesn't exist anymore. The world outside passes unnoticed. He doesn't check his phone. Doesn't answer emails. He doesn't leave unless absolutely necessary. Not once does he stop to question what he's doing.

He watches surgical procedures again and again. Even the worst ones. Even the failed ones. Especially the failed ones.

He clears space in his office—moves out furniture, lays down sheets, sets up the lights, and arranges equipment from the hospital in ways that could send him to jail immediately. There's no pause in him. Not a breath wasted.

When his library card no longer works from overuse, he prints pages from PDFs and staples them together. And all the while, Baya sleeps in the room next door. Or cooks. Or draws, even though she can't draw. She wishes she could go outside and check up on their friends, but knows it's better if she doesn't go anywhere right now.

●・○・●・○・●

Baya sits on the mattress of their bed, bare-legged, wearing one of Chishiya's dark T-shirts. Her knees are pulled to her chest. Her skin looks too pale against the cotton. Her hair is tied back, though a few strands hang in her face, stuck there by sweat and quiet terror.

Chishiya pulls a stool up beside her. "I want you to know everything," he says. "Everything about the procedure."

Baya swallows. Her throat is dry, but she manages, "Okay."

He picks up a pen, flipping open his notebook. She leans forward to see, and he points to a diagram of the uterus.

"You're about twenty-eight weeks along," he says. "Legally, this would only be done in a hospital under extreme medical emergency. Which this... isn't considered." He turns a page. "There are two parts. First, we have to terminate the pregnancy before any extraction. Otherwise, the body will respond as if you're going into labor."

"How do you do that?" she asks.

"I give you an injection directly into the amniotic sac. It stops the heartbeat of the fetus. Then I begin the dilation process. For this, I'll use laminaria sticks. They'll expand your cervix over several hours. They'll be inserted gently, one at a time."

Baya grimaces, but keeps listening.

"Once you're fully dilated, I'll administer anesthesia—completely unconscious, like we discussed earlier. I use suction and surgical tools to remove the fetus and any remaining tissue. You'll feel nothing and will wake up when it's done."

She stares at the page. "And after?"

"There'll be bleeding. Cramping. Hormonal drop. Painkillers will help, but you'll need rest. No lifting. No stairs for a few days. No baths, only showers. I'll monitor everything and I'll stay beside you until you're through it." Chishiya looks her right in the eyes. "Are you okay with this?"

"Yes."

●・○・●・○・●

They begin that same night. He starts with the injection. She doesn't look as he does it, she just grips the mattress hard and closes her eyes.

Chishiya doesn't leave her side for the next twelve hours. He lays beside her when her body starts to cramp from the dying tissue. He gives her pills when she feels like vomiting. He counts every minute between contractions and applies heat packs to her abdomen.

Morning brings the start of dilation. The process lasts several days before Chishiya can actually perform the surgery.

He double-checks every tool. Baya lies on the table, an oxygen tube under her nose, IV secured to her arm. Her body is trembling slightly.

He bends over her. "I'm here," he says. "And it'll be okay, and you'll be okay."

The sedative works fast. By the count of seven, she's gone. He waits an extra minute, checking vitals. Heart rate. Oxygen levels. Eye response. Then he begins.

●・○・●・○・●

She wakes before dawn. Her body aches like it's been torn in two. Her lower back is sore, her thighs weak. She blinks against the light.

She doesn't speak at first. Just stares at the ceiling. Her skin is pale, sweaty at the collarbone.

Chishiya moves slowly. No sudden gestures. He picks up the thermometer and brushes her hair aside to tuck it under her tongue. Her eyes follow his face.

"Thirty-seven point two," he says after a moment. "No fever."

She swallows slowly. "It's done?"

"It's done."

She doesn't cry. Just turns her face to the side and closes her eyes again. Chishiya doesn't ask how she feels. He knows the layers of it all too well; relief laced with guilt, pain entangled with something unspeakable. So he just sits with her.

Ten minutes pass before she tries to sit up.

"Hey." His hand presses gently to her shoulder. "Slow."

"I have to go to the bathroom," she whispers.

He helps her. She wobbles on her feet the second she tries to stand, legs like jelly beneath her, so he wraps an arm around her waist and guides her to the small bathroom. She's barely made it inside before she locks the door.

Then silence. He waits. He doesn't knock. But after a minute, he hears a breath hitched in the throat. A sharp inhale. And then a sob. Chishiya closes his eyes. The sound goes through him like a blade.

Fifteen minutes later, she comes out. Her eyes red, her hair messy, but there's a strange steadiness in her steps now.

●・○・●・○・●

They eat very little that day.

She lies on the couch, a blanket over her lap, and stares out the window. Chishiya checks her vitals every hour. Blood pressure. Temperature. Heart rate. When she winces at a cramp, he brings her a warm compress. When she can't stomach rice, he makes her drink warm water.

Late in the afternoon, she reaches for his hand. He's sitting on the edge of the couch, still going through his notes, double checking details. Her fingers curl into his. He stills.

"You didn't sleep," she says.

"I will."

"You didn't eat."

"I will."

She shifts, making more room beside her. "Come here."

He hesitates before he climbs beside her, careful not to touch her abdomen. She rests her head against his shoulder. They sit like that for an hour. Neither speaks.

By morning, she asks for eggs.

He makes them. And for the first time in days, they eat together. She doesn't say it yet, but he sees it in her eyes: the first hint of peace.

●・○・●・○・●

The worst of the physical pain passes by the third day. Chishiya keeps her wrapped in blankets. His house has transformed into something gentler. The lights stay dim. The curtains remain closed. No visitors. No calls. Just quiet.

Every few hours, he checks her bleeding, presses his fingers gently along her lower belly to check for swelling or tenderness, and makes her sip water with crushed ice.

Chishiya notices how her hands linger over her stomach a little longer. How she watches the ceiling for minutes at a time in the morning, eyes unfocused. How she walks slower, not because she's in pain, but like she's unsure of her body now, as if it's not fully hers.

He doesn't push. He brings her books, none of them medical. He puts a comforting chair on the balcony so she can sit in the sun. He doesn't try to 'cheer her up', he simply creates space.

Three days later, they goes outside. Not far. Just walking to a quiet alley with blooming trees. She wears one of his sweaters and a long skirt. A cap over head.

Chishiya stays close. Baya doesn't say anything when she sees a mother passing with a baby stroller. Just looks down. He pretends not to notice.

Later, she asks if they can stop by a bookstore. She lingers in the art aisle. Buys a sketchbook and three pencils.

When they get home, she draws for hours. Hands smudged. Hair tied up. Her tongue poking slightly out the side of her mouth in concentration.

And eventually, she looks up. "I want to check on our friends. Can we meet up with some of them? I'm strong enough to go out."

"I can send Arisu a message. I made sure to gather everyone number at the hospital."

Smiling lightly, Baya nods. "That would be great."

●・○・●・○・●

The next week, she meets Arisu and Usagi at a quiet cafe. She wears lipstick and shoes and proper clothes. She smiles when she sees them, but it falters a little when they ask how she's been.

"I've been..." she begins. Her voice wavers. Then steadies. "Healing. What about you guys?"

Usagi squeezes her hand. Arisu nods as he replies. Then they talk about the news. Politics. A new VR game.

But never do they talk about the Borderlands.

●・○・●・○・●

She still has days where she doesn't want to get out of bed.

Days where her hand lingers over the scar on her stomach. Days where she avoids looking at strollers or toy stores. Days where the smell of disinfectant or the sound of a baby crying makes her throat tighten.

But she keeps sketching. She keeps going outside. She sleeps next to Chishiya every night, knowing she may have been hurt, but she was never alone.

A month later, a thought pops up.

She lies in bed beside Chishiya. He's awake, she can tell. Breathing just a little too steadily, arms wrapped around her waist like always.

She turns slightly, whispers.

"Where did you put him? Niragi?"

Chishiya's eyes open slowly.

She sits up, curling the blanket around her legs. "I've been trying not to ask. I didn't want to know. But I can't stop thinking about it. What if someone finds him? What if someone comes looking?"

"They won't." He sits up too, reaching to switch on the lamp. The warm yellow glow pools around them.

Baya stares at her hands. They're clean now. But she remembers when they weren't.

"Did you bury him?"

"No."

"Then...?"

"Ann and I dissolved the body."

"What?"

"Acid," he says simply. "We broke down tissue over several days. Bones take longer, but we planned for that. Everything was incinerated. All remains were filtered, crushed, and disposed of across multiple industrial waste locations."

She stares at him, heart pounding. "Where was his phone?"

"I took it."

"Did you go through it?"

"Yes."

"What was on it?"

"A lot of messages. Some contacts. Darknet logins. Photos."

Her stomach twists.

Chishiya continues, calm. "I deleted all of it. Broke every piece of it. It's gone."

She nods slowly. It's quiet for a moment before she says, "But people must've noticed he was gone. How do you make someone vanish without people asking questions?"

"You remove the questions before they happen. First, we accessed all of his online accounts—everything we could crack. We wiped clean any activity after a certain date, then set auto-replies, false GPS locations, fake check-ins, and chatbots to answer messages."

Baya stares.

"He had no real friends. Just contacts. People who owed him things or feared him. It didn't take much to convince them he'd skipped town."

"What about his money?"

"We emptied his wallets and shut down his linked accounts. Ann rerouted the balances. No one can trace them now. As far as the government's concerned, he hasn't logged income or filed taxes in years."

"What about identification?" she asks. "Didn't he have ID? Bank cards?"

"Gone," Chishiya says. "Shredded. Photos, burned. I even had his name de-registered in a government databas. If anyone checks, it'll show he boarded a ferry overseas using a fake passport."

Baya's mouth is slightly open now.

"No one's looking for him, Baya. Not really. And if they were, they wouldn't find a trail. Just a dead end."

She hesitates. Then: "What would happen if someone found out about the abortion?"

He leans back slightly, considering. There's no fear in him, only facts. "I'm not licensed to perform abortions," he says, calm. "And it wasn't a registered procedure, or done in a hospital. So, at best? It would be considered unlicensed medical practice. I could be charged."

Baya's chest tightens. "How bad would it be?"

"It depends on how it's interpreted. If they decide it was against your will, it becomes forced abortion. That's a felony."

She stares at him, speechless. "And you still did it?" she whispers.

"I would do it again," he replies without hesitation.

"But your whole life, your job—"

"You're my life," he says, simply. It's not romantic, the way he says it. Not dramatic. Just true.

Her insides warm up. A hint of a smile grows on her lips. "And you're mine." A pause. "But what are the real consequences, Chishiya?"

"Like I said, I'm not licensed for obstetrics or gynecology. Performing abortion, even in a hospital, without authorization is illegal. Performing one at home—after seven months of pregnancy—is illegal on multiple counts."

She opens her mouth, then closes it.

"How many counts?" she finally manages.

"Three to five criminal charges. At least. Plus revocation of my license, permanent blacklisting from all medical institutions, and a possible civil suit if the state claims harm. I could serve time. And I'd lose everything."

"If they find out—"

"They won't. I covered everything," he says. "The hospital wing I used was shut down due to constructiob. The badge I used was for a staff member who no longer works there. No cameras. I wiped the access records. I brought my own equipment. Logged nothing. Disposed of everything. Burned most of the equipment. Deleted every file."

He reaches up and touches her cheek, brushing a tear away. "You survived everything they threw at you. Niragi. The Borderlands. The Joker's game. The coma. You clawed your way back. I won't let the world punish you for surviving."

She sobs then. He pulls her forward into his chest, holding her tightly.

"I feel like I'll accidentally tell someone about this," she hiccups. "Would that be wrong?"

"Dangerous, but not wrong. And depends on who it is, of course."

Baya pulls away to look at him. "Do you trust our friends?"

He almost looks like he has to consider it. "I trust none of them with everything. Some, I trust with a lot. Others, not so much."

"Can I know who's who?"

"I mostly trust Aguni and Ann. Not because they're closest to me, but they're the best at keeping secrets. You could say I trust all of them... in another way. I trust Arisu with other things than I trust Usagi with."

"But you trust none of them entirely."

"Though it depends on the situation, yes."

"Do you trust me entirely?"

"I do."

She raises an eyebrow. "No, you don't."

"Yes, I do. But once again, in different senses."

"For example?"

"If I were to hide a body, I'd rather tell Ann and Aguni than you. You're too talkative to keep most secrets. But if I had to pour my heart out to someone, I'd choose you."

Baya hums thoughtfully. "Makes sense. Speaking of pouring your heart out, why don't you?"

"I have nothing to say."

"How do you feel about the abortion? Start with that."

"I feel relieved it succeeded."

"And emotionally? How did you feel about finding out?"

"It was almost unsurprising."

She buries her head in her hands, laughing. "That's not emotionally."

"You don't talk much about your feelings, either."

"I talk a lot!"

"Indeed. But not about your feelings."

"I do talk about my feelings."

"You do not."

"I do— well, now you say so... maybe I don't."

"You talk about your mental state less than me."

A sigh. "Okay, okay. I give in. But what is there to tell?"

"I don't know. You worked at the black market for five years. You lived with Niragi for three months. You stayed with Banda and Yaba. You spent two months thinking I'd died. You grew up in an orphanage. There's a lot of things to tell me."

"I've told you a lot about all those things."

"You really haven't."

"I have!"

"No, you haven't."

"Okay, then what do you want to know?"  

Chishiya leans back, staring at the ceiling. "Arisu wanted me to ask if I was your first time."

"Arisu wanted you to ask that? I think that's an excuse."

"He really did. Except that doesn't mean I'm not curious, either."

Baya exhales another time, long and deep. "No. Excluding Niragi... still no."

"Did you have a boyfriend once?"

Slowly, she nods. "Yeah."

Chishiya sits straight up. Instead of looking disappointed, like she had expected, he looks amused. "Tell me about it."

And so she does. Hesitantly.

●・○・●・○・●

They met in a fight.

Baya was cornered in an alley, a deal gone wrong, three men closing in. She'd been fast, but not fast enough. One of them had grabbed her wrist, twisting it hard enough to make her yelp.

Then, out of nowhere, Jin had appeared—laughing, dodging, and landing blows.

She didn't trust him at first. But Jin was relentless, worming his way into her life with a grin and a cigarette always dangling from his lips.

"I look out for you," he told her once, arms draped lazily behind his head as they lay on a rooftop. "That's how this works."

"Why?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Because I can."

Because he liked her. Because he liked the idea of being needed. Because Jin always needed to be the center of someone's world.

And Baya, despite herself, sometimes wished she had met someone different that night. Someone who wouldn't make himself the hero of every story.

Jin never walked in a straight line. He zigzagged through life, always looking for the next thrill. If there was a fight, he joined. If there was a risk, he took it. He talked loud, laughed louder, and never stopped moving.

When they went drinking with others, he got in people's faces: pushing, teasing, provoking. He liked being the loudest, the most noticed.

"You need to loosen up."

She shrugged him off. "You need to stop acting like you're invincible."

He grinned wildly. "Maybe I am."

Baya exhaled. Maybe he thought being loud made him strong. But real strength didn't come from being the loudest in the room.

But Jin didn't wait. He didn't calculate. He didn't anticipate.

He never planned ahead.

He didn't think about the future. He lived in the moment, never worrying about what came next.

Baya asked him once, "Do you ever think about getting out of this?"

Jin raised an eyebrow. "Out of what?"

"This," she had gestured vaguely. "The black market. The deals. The fights."

He snorted. "And do what? Work some boring job? Live some boring life?"

She looked at him then, really looked at him. He meant it. He truly believed that there was no life beyond this.

Maybe, for him, there wasn't. But she wasn't so sure about herself. She didn't want a normal life, but she wanted something... sharper. Something better. Someone who wouldn't get himself killed so easily.

Because Jin wore his heart on his sleeve. He never hid how he felt. When he was angry, he shouted. When he was happy, he laughed like the world belonged to him. When he was with her, he touched; hands on her wrists, fingers brushing her cheek, an arm slung around her shoulders.

And then Jin died.

A knife in the ribs. A deal gone wrong.

It didn't surprise her. It didn't even hurt as much as she thought it would.

She lit a cigarette, took a drag, and kept walking.

She had almost predicted it. Because Jin was never careful. And careful people live longer.

●・○・●・○・●

"Interesting," Chishiya comments.

Baya shrugs. "He was your polar opposite. And I was always like... what if he'd be quieter? Smarter? And boom, you appeared."

Chishiya's eyebrow twitches. "Boom, I appeared?"

"Like magic. Except instead of a knight, I got a grumpy little cryptid with no social skills. You show affection once a week and act like you're doing me a favor."

He catches her wrist mid-poke and presses a kiss to her fingers. "Yet you stayed."

"Because I'm hopelessly in love with you," she announces, letting her body collapse against his side in dramatic defeat. "Even though you never talk about your crushes."

"I don't have crushes."

"Oh come on," she grins, eyes sparkling. "You must have liked someone before me."

"No."

"Seriously?"

He glances at her, then away again. "Not the way you mean it."

Baya narrows her eyes. "What way do I mean it?"

"You mean infatuation. Butterflies. Daydreaming. That sort of thing."

"Well, yeah."

"I don't operate like that."

"You're so annoying," she groans. "Come on, everyone had a high school crush or something."

"Not me."

"Okay, then what about in med school? You're telling me you never had a thing for some smart girl in glasses? Or a hot mentor? Nothing?"

Chishiya looks faintly amused now. "I respected a few people. Admired their skill. That's not the same."

"Oh my," Baya laughs. "You're literally a machine."

He doesn't deny it. "Emotional attachments complicate things."

"Well, thank God I showed up and ruined your life, huh?"

"That's one way of putting it."

She leans in again, grinning. "So, no secret longing for an older lab partner?"

He lifts an eyebrow. "Did you?"

"Oh yeah," she says, nodding. "I had a thing for this older guy when I was like... seventeen? He ran one of the underground trade rings. Had a cane and wore this long coat. Very dramatic. Like a villain in a movie."

"That explains a lot. And did anything happen with the dramatic villain?"

"Nope. I was invisible to him. Which was probably a blessing. He once beat someone up with a wrench because they delivered the wrong heart."

"Romantic," he deadpans.

She tucks her face against his arm, muffling her next words. "You ever think about what we'd be doing if the Borderlands hadn't happened?"

"I try not to," he answers.

"Why?"

"Because we never would've met."

"Sometimes I think we're two people who were never supposed to meet, but the world got drunk one night and made a mistake."

He considers that. "Or maybe it sobered up."

She threads her fingers into his hair, brushing it back gently. "And sometimes I look at you and think you were custom made for me."

"That's biologically improbable."

"But romantically adorable," she protests. "You were made for me. The universe looked down and said: this girl's gonna go through hell. She's gonna need the weirdest, smartest man possible to fix her up after. Because let's be honest, who else would put up with all this?"

"Literally no one."

"Exactly."

She grins, wrapping her arms around him, and he lets her. "Did you know I used to live with a bunch of guys?"

"How many?"

"Five. Sometimes six. Depends who was hiding from the cops that month."

That earns her a glance.

"They weren't bad people," she adds quickly. "Just... black market types. Dealers, smugglers, and organ runners like me. A few had military backgrounds. One used to be a priest. Weird mix."

Chishiya raises a brow. "A priest?"

"Yeah. Left the church after he stabbed a man during a wedding. Said God went quiet after that."

He hums. "Reasonable."

"It wasn't a cult, if that's what you're wondering."

"I wasn't," he lies.

Baya stretches, arms overhead, her fingers brushing the headboard. "They weren't family, exactly, but they kept me alive. Taught me things, like how to tell if someone's lying by the way their eye twitches when they breathe."

Chishiya blinks. "That's not real."

"It is if you're paranoid enough."

She turns her head to look at him now, cheek pressed to his chest. "We had rules. Like no stealing from each other. No violence inside the house. If you wanted to scream, go to the roof. If you wanted to cry, do it in the shower."

"Did you cry often?"

She thinks for a moment, then shrugs. "Only when I was alone. There wasn't room for weakness in that house. Not really."

"Were they protective of you?"

"Oh, yeah. Ridiculously. I brought one guy home once and they shaved his eyebrows off while he was sleeping just to make a point. I mean, he was a jerk, but still." She laughs. "They said I was the 'baby.' That I shouldn't have to worry about rent or knives or blood."

"And yet you did."

"Yeah. I patched them up after fights. I smuggled meds in through my boots. I cooked. Cleaned. Ran errands. Sometimes they'd forget I was even a girl. Other times they'd tell me I reminded them of their sisters."

Chishiya is quiet now. Listening, as always.

"It wasn't safe," she admits. "Sometimes someone wouldn't come home. One night, we found a head in a bag on the front steps. I threw up. The priest burned it and said it was a sign."

"A sign of what?"

"That we were being watched."

Chishiya doesn't speak for a while after that.

Baya fiddles with the hem of his shirt. "I don't miss it," she says softly. "But I don't regret it either. I was... free there. I had people. And I mattered."

"You matter now," he says quietly.

She smiles against him. "Yeah, but now I also have warm blankets and overpriced shampoo."

"Those men. Would they have approved of me?"

"They would've hated you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Too cold. Too smart. Too... doctor-y. You would've terrified them."

"Hm."

She laughs. "You're so cocky."

"I'm right."

"Our apartment got destroyed because of the meteorite. I don't know if they're still alive right now. I won't check. I don't want to get involved again." She pauses shortly. "There was this one guy named Kaito. I sometimes wonder if I hadn't known him... then maybe I wouldn't have had all this trouble with Niragi."

"How come?"

"I met him when I was nineteen, new at the black market. Him and his friends showed me things. One of those things was hitting a guy with baseballs and making him eat urinated rice— and that guy was Niragi. I thought they were punishing someone because they didn't do their work at the black market. But apparently, he didn't even work at the black market. He was just a student, too nerdy to be appreciated. I'm convinced that if I knew about that earlier, I would've stopped them."

Chishiya is silent for a while. "Try not to think about it too much. People like Niragi... you don't know if it's just the bullying that made him who he was. At some point, he was cruel enough for it to be his nature."

"You're right," she murmurs. "Did you have a lot of friends at school?"

"Take a wild guess."

She pouts. "I don't want to."

"I'd be offended if you guessed I did have friends, so don't worry." Chishiya huffs. "So no, I didn't have friends."

"Enemies?"

"Not directly."

"One-sided enemies?"

"I didn't really care about the actions of those surrounding me."

"Bullies?"

"None. They found no fun in provoking me. Too boring or something." His eyes twinkle with slight amusement. "What about you?"

"No bullies."

"Did you have a lot of friends at the orphanage? And what kind of school did you go to?"

"It was a school inside the orphanage. A homeschool of sorts," she explains. "I had one friend."

"I expect a higher number."

"Nope. Just one."

"Go on."

"It's not a happy story."

"Same as the Jin one?"

"Worse."

"Ah." Chishiya closes his eyes. "Well, delight me."

"Fine." Baya runs a hand down her face, slowly. "His name was Satoshi."

One of his eyes opens again. "You and Arisu are more alike than I thought."

"What does that mean?"

"Both of you only realized females exist inside the Borderlands. Before that, neither of you had any interaction with them."

"Is that an insult?"

"It's on observation." He shrugs. "Anyway, go on."

●・○・●・○・●

At the age of eight, Baya met him for the first time.

She had been at the orphanage for as long as she could remember. The nurses never gave her a clear answer when she asked how she ended up at the orphanage in the first place, and soon enough, she realized that they also didn't know.

She was just... there. No backstory behind it.

Baya was no different from any other kid, apart from the fact she loved therapy sessions, while others screamed and cried as nurses dragged them into that room.

Baya looked forward to therapy the way other kids looked forward to dessert after dinner. The room, the ticking clock, the kind yet professional voice of the therapist... she loved it all. It was the one place where she had undivided attention, where someone listened to every word she said without rolling their eyes or telling her to be quiet. She clung to it desperately.

But therapy only lasted an hour, and once it was over, she was back in the crowded orphanage, just another kid among dozens of others. It wasn't that she didn't like the other children, no. She was always trying to hold their hands, always wrapping her arms around them, always searching for warmth and closeness. Some of them liked it, but most found her too much.

She learned to navigate that, to shift from one person to the next when they pulled away, to never linger too long when she felt someone start to grow tired of her. It was a balancing act. One she wasn't particularly good at, but she tried.

That day, however, she didn't get the chance to practice her balancing act, because the orphanage was in chaos.

She had just stepped out of therapy, feeling amazed as she always did, when the sound of shouting filled the hallway. It was coming from the common area: a large, open room with couches, bookshelves, and a few scattered tables where the older kids liked to sit. Baya hurried toward the noise, her small feet tapping against the floor.

She turned the corner, and she saw them. A group of older boys, maybe five or six of them, standing in a loose circle. In the center was another boy, tall and lean, his hands shoved in his pockets as he stared at them with an unreadable expression. He looked calm.

Baya recognized the other boys as the ones who liked to bully the younger kids, taking their snacks or pushing them around when the nurses weren't looking. She didn't know the boy in the middle, though. He was older, maybe seventeen, and she had never seen him before.

"Who's that?" she whispered to one of the younger kids standing near the doorway.

"Satoshi," the boy whispered back. "He's been here forever."

Forever? That wasn't possible. Baya knew everyone in the orphanage.

Or at least, she thought she did.

One of the bullies stepped forward, a smug grin on his face. "You think you're better than us, huh?"

Satoshi didn't react. He barely even blinked.

Another boy reached for him, grabbing his shoulder. "Say something, asshole."

The next few moments happened so fast that Baya almost missed them. Satoshi moved, twisting his arm back with a speed and precision that didn't seem normal. The boy let out a sharp yelp. The other bullies hesitated, eyes darting between Satoshi and their friend.

Then slowly, Satoshi released him, stepping back as if nothing had happened. The bullies exchanged a look, then muttered something under their breaths before backing away, disappearing down the hall.

Without a word, Satoshi also turned and walked toward the library.

Baya hesitated for only a moment before she followed.

●・○・●・○・●

She trailed behind him, her feet quick and quiet against the floor. He didn't look back, didn't acknowledge her presence at all, but she didn't mind.

The library was mostly empty when they stepped inside, only a few kids scattered at tables, flipping through old books. Satoshi weaved between the shelves.

Baya watched, fascinated. There was something about the way he carried himself that made her think he didn't care about anything at all. She decided she liked him.

When he finally stopped at a bookshelf, she took the chance to speak. "You're really strong."

Satoshi pulled out a book, glanced at her briefly, then looked back at the pages. "You're really nosy."

Baya grinned. "I just think you're cool."

"Hm." He flipped a page, uninterested.

She inched closer, tilting her head to read over his shoulder. "What are you reading?"

"The Count of Monte Cristo."

"What's that?"

"A book."

She frowned at his tone. "Well, obviously."

He let out a small breath, but didn't push her away. That was enough encouragement for her to keep talking.

"You fought really well back there," she said, rocking on her heels. "Are you some kind of secret warrior?"

"No."

"Then how did you do that?"

He finally looked at her, raising a brow. "Why?"

Baya shrugged. "Because it was cool. And because those guys are the worst."

Satoshi watched her for a second, then turned back to his book. "I watch a lot of fights on TV."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

She shifted closer, eyeing his book again. "Can I read with you?"

He didn't say no, which she took as a yes.

So she sat beside him, swinging her legs as she tried to make sense of the small, complicated words on the page. She didn't understand all of it, but she liked the way Satoshi read—steady and unhurried.

They sat like that for a long time.

●・○・●・○・●

She burst into the library like a storm, nearly tripping over her own feet as she rushed between the shelves. The librarian barely lifted her head in disapproval before going back to her book. Baya didn't care—she was on a mission.

Satoshi was exactly where she expected him to be, sitting in the same spot, reading like nothing else in the world existed.

Baya planted herself right in front of him, hands on her hips. "Teach me."

He didn't even look up. "No."

She scowled. "Why not?"

"Because it's pointless."

She huffed, dropping into the chair across from him. "It's not pointless. I need to know how to fight."

"Why?"

She faltered for a second. "Because... because one day, I might need it."

He didn't answer. Instead, he turned a page in his book and kept reading.

Baya groaned. "Come on, you fought those guys like a pro! Just teach me something small—just one move!"

"Go ask someone else."

"I don't want to ask someone else. I want to learn from you."

"Too bad."

She pouted. "You're no fun."

He didn't react, but she saw the ghost of a smirk flicker across his face. It wasn't a yes, but it wasn't a no, either. So she stayed. And that was how it began.

The days turned into weeks, and before Baya even realized it, she was following Satoshi everywhere.

She met him in the library, followed him when he snuck outside, dragged him into conversations even when he clearly didn't want to talk. He tolerated her presence more than he should, considering how much she talked, but he never pushed her away.

He didn't say much, but she learned things about him anyway.

She learned that he preferred books over people, that he only fought when he had no other choice, that he didn't like when people touched him without warning.

She learned that he wasn't as emotionless as he pretended to be, because sometimes she caught him smirking at her dumb jokes, or rolling his eyes at her dramatic stories, or giving her advice when she was feeling down.

One day, she clung to his arm, swinging it back and forth as they walked through the orphanage halls.

"Satoshi, Satoshi, Satoshi," she sang.

"What?"

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"I knew it!" she peeped. "Do you know how old I am?"

"Yes."

"What's your favorite color?"

"Blue."

"Mine is—"

"I know."

She gasped dramatically. "You do?"

Satoshi glanced at her. "You say it every day."

"Oh. Well, in case you forgot, it's yellow. Because it's bright and happy and warm and—"

"—and it makes people feel like the sun," he finished flatly. "Yes, I know."

Baya beamed. "Wow, you really listen to me!"

He flicked her forehead lightly. "Unfortunately."

She huffed, rubbing the spot as they turned a corner. The hallway was empty, apart from a few scattered papers on the floor, probably from the younger kids running around. Baya didn't let go of his arm. She swung it again.

"Do you like being here?" she asked suddenly.

Satoshi didn't answer right away. He looked down the hall, thoughtful. "I don't know."

She tilted her head. "How can you not know?"

"Because I don't hate it," he said simply. "But I don't love it, either."

"But don't you want a real family?"

"I don't think about it."

She stopped walking, forcing him to stop too. "That's dumb. I think about it all the time."

Satoshi sighed, like he knew she was going to say that. "Of course you do."

"I do," she insisted. "I think about getting adopted and having a house and a family and a chihuahua—"

"You don't even like chihuahuas."

"—and a cat, then," she corrected quickly. "And I'll have my own room with yellow walls, and my family will love me and never leave me."

She said it so confidently, so surely, like it was a fact rather than a dream.

Satoshi didn't respond. He just watched her, his dark eyes unreadable.

Baya tugged at his sleeve. "Don't you want that too?"

"No."

Her mouth fell open. "What do you mean, no?"

"I mean no. I don't need all that."

She stared at him like he'd just said the sky wasn't blue. "Then what do you need?"

He looked down at her. Then, without a word, he started walking again, dragging her along.

Baya huffed but didn't let go. She figured if he wouldn't say it, then she'd say it for him. "You need me."

He snorted. "Whatever you say, Baya."

She made a face. "Yuzuki."

"Hm?"

She squeezed his arm. "Call me Yuzuki."

"All right, Yuzuki. Go play with your friends."

"You're my friend."

"Since when?"

"Since forever," Baya declared.

He let her keep clinging to him as they walked, his gaze fixed ahead.

"So," she said, swinging his arm again, "since we're friends, will you finally teach me how to fight?"

"No."

She groaned, throwing her head back. "You're so stubborn!"

"And you're annoying."

"Teach me!"

Satoshi sighed. "You're not going to stop asking, are you?"

"Nope."

"Fine. One move. That's it."

"Really?"

"Yes. But if you ask for more, I'm throwing you in the river."

She beamed. "You wouldn't dare."

His smirk was barely there, but she caught it. "Mhm."

Baya practically vibrated with excitement. She threw her arms around Satoshi in an exaggerated hug, making him stiffen instantly.

"You're the best!"

"Get off," he muttered, trying to pry her away.

She clung tighter. "Nope. You agreed to be my friend. This is what friends do!"

"I agreed to one fight lesson, not—" He huffed when she squeezed him even harder. "Yuzuki."

She finally let go, but not before grinning at the exasperated look on his face.

"Okay, okay," she said, stepping back and placing her hands on her hips. "So, where do we start? Do I get a cool stance? A move? A cry?"

Satoshi pinched the bridge of his nose. "Meet me outside after dinner. And wear something you can move in."

Yuzuki gasped. "It's happening. I'm actually getting trained!"

"Don't make it weird," he warned, turning to leave.

"But it's already weird," she called after him.

●・○・●・○・●

The sun was low when she found him in the orphanage courtyard. The air was warm, the sky burning orange at the edges, and a few younger kids were still running around, playing tag near the swings. Satoshi stood near the farthest wall, arms crossed, eyes scanning the area.

She stretched her arms above her head. "So? How do I break someone's ribs?"

"You're learning how to block."

"Boring."

"You think you're going to be throwing people across the room on your first day?"

"Well—"

"You're small," he interrupted flatly. "If someone grabs you, you won't overpower them. Your best chance is to avoid getting hit or break free before they can do real damage."

"I could bite."

"You could also not get grabbed in the first place."

"Fine," she sighed. "Blocking it is."

He stepped in front of her, raising his arms. "I'm going to throw a punch at you—slowly. You block it. Try to push my arm away from you instead of just stopping it."

She nodded, bouncing on her feet. "Got it."

Satoshi threw a slow punch toward her shoulder, and Yuzuki swatted at his arm wildly.

His face was blank, but she swore she could hear the disappointment. "That was awful."

"It was my first try!"

"It was still awful."

She scowled. "You said to push it away!"

"Not slap it like you're shooing a bug."

She grumbled under her breath. "Okay, okay, I'll do it right this time."

He threw another punch, and she tried again. This time, pushing his arm to the side instead of just smacking at it.

Satoshi tilted his head slightly, considering. "Better. But you're slow. Again."

They repeated the motion, over and over, until her arms started to ache. Satoshi didn't go easy on her, even though she knew he could.

By the time they stopped, the sky had darkened into deep purples and blues, the last of the sunlight disappearing beyond the trees. The orphanage windows glowed faintly in the distance, and the shouts of kids playing had faded into quiet laughter from inside.

Baya shook out her arm. "I think I lost all feeling in my hands."

"You'll live," Satoshi said, stretching his own arms. "You did okay."

She blinked. "Was that a compliment?"

"Don't get used to it."

"Too late." Baya tugged at his sleeve. "Same time tomorrow?"

"You're insane," he muttered, turning toward the orphanage.

"And you're my favorite person!" she called after him. "See you tomorrow!"

She had found out Satoshi's class was the one across from hers, and if she stood on her tiptoes, leaning all the way left, she could see him sitting through the glass that split them up.

He raised a hand into his familiar signature move, a salute. "See you on the other side," he said, hinting at the glass.

●・○・●・○・●

"That indeed sounds like the start of a tragic story," Chishiya points out. "What happened?"

"I was getting to that."

●・○・●・○・●

Baya never imagined a life where Satoshi wasn't with her.

She'd been so certain that no matter what, they'd always find a way back to each other. That's what she told him when she was ten, and she still believed it now at thirteen.

But then came the worst news of her life.

Satoshi was getting adopted.

And not just adopted; adopted by people who lived so far away that she might as well consider him dead.

The orphanage staff called it a happy ending. They smiled and told Satoshi he was lucky. They said he finally had a real family.

Baya didn't see it that way. She saw it as a betrayal.

As soon as she heard the news, she ran straight to him, storming into his room without knocking. "Tell me it's a lie."

He barely looked up from his half-packed suitcase. "It's not."

Her stomach dropped. "No. You can't leave."

Satoshi sighed, rubbing his temple. "Yuzuki—"

"You promised," she cut in, her voice shaking. "You said we'd always know each other."

"I never promised that."

"You didn't have to!" She stomped forward, grabbing his sleeve. "You're my family! You can't just—just leave me here!"

Satoshi didn't say anything for a moment. He just stared down at her, his usual unreadable expression slipping, just a little.

Baya clung to him harder. "Take me with you."

"You know that's not how this works."

"I don't care." She shook her head furiously, tears welling up in her eyes. "Tell them you won't go unless they take me, too! Say I'm your sister—say whatever you need to, just—"

"Yuzuki." His voice was sharp. "Stop."

Her breath hitched. "I—"

"I can't take you with me."

"Then don't go."

"I have to."

Baya's vision blurred with hot, angry tears. She let go of his sleeve and grabbed onto his shirt instead, pressing her face against his chest like she could physically keep him here. "Please."

He didn't push her away. He just stood there, stiff. But he didn't hug her back, either.

When the adoption parents arrived, Baya made a scene.

She tried to drag Satoshi back inside when he stepped outside. She clung to him so tightly that one of the nurses had to pry her off. She kicked and screamed, sobbing so hard that she could barely breathe.

"DON'T LEAVE ME!" Her screams echoed across the orphanage, but Satoshi didn't turn back.

The moment he got in that car, Baya knew.

It was over.

She'd never see him again.

●・○・●・○・●

"And were you right?"

"Yes. I never saw him again." Baya sighs. "He wrote me a letter every week. I received them. I opened the first five, but didn't write back. From then on, I threw the letters away. He stopped writing me after three years." An overwhelming sadness hits her suddenly. "He's the thirty-three now. Must have kids and a wife."

"Three years," Chishiya repeats, breathing the words out. "He was determined."

"I feel bad about not writing him back. I could've been the fun aunt to his children by now."

"You could be the fun aunt for Arisu and Usagi."

She shoots straight up. "They're having a baby?"

"No. Not yet, at least. But I'm predicting it."

"I'm going to ask them about it. We—"

"You're going to ask them 'Hey, have you been up to intimate things in bed lately'? Are you making a baby?" Chishiya wonders.

"Yes, actually. And if they are, we take it as a sign. Imagine how adorable it would be if our child grew up with theirs!"

"Arisu lives an hour away from here. Usagi, too. We're not driving every day just because the kids should bond."

She gasps louder than ever. "You didn't deny it this time!"

Chishiya rolls over, turning his back to her.

Baya forces him to spin back around. "Yes. We're lining it up with Arisu and Usagi. I've decided. Do you agree?"

"I'm just happy this whole abortion thing didn't ruin your dreams," he grumbles into his pillow. "But that doesn't mean they should become reality."

"They should!" Baya insists excitedly.

"You move on from things so fast."

"True. Anyway, what do I have to do to make you agree with me? Wait, should I get a job? I probably should. Even though you're rich, I should also play my part. No, wait, I'm not getting a job. I hate work. I'll just glow your house up."

"Glow my house up?"

"Yes. Your garden is unkept, the walls are boring, you have no colorful pillows, and you're missing candles. I'll be adding a few things. Don't worry, it'll be color themed."

"I think I will start asking for rent."

"But I already planned on paying rent!"

"What? Why? How much?"

"I can show you." Baya carefully steps out of bed, still trying not to put too much pressure on her stomach. She walks over to her part of the closer and takes a basket out. "I bought this. As a 'thank you' for performing the surgery on me. And basically everything you've ever done for me."

It's a basket filled with packs of cookies. The cheapest but best thing she could've gotten him.

Chishiya presses his palms together and bows down, muttering something about heaven. "You just lengthened your stay to sixty plus years."

"Perfect! I'll grow old with you." Baya grins wildly as he opens a package and starts nibbling on a cookie. His mood must be good, because he also hands her a cookie.

"Did you know—"

"Why do you always start dropping facts while you're eating cookies?"

"—that Aguni, Ann, and Kuina are moving in together?" He asks, frowning. "Heiya is too young, obviously. And I bet it won't take long for Arisu and Usagi to move in together."

"Really? Where will they live?"

"Not too far away from here. Also in the suburbs. Pretty large house for the three of them." Chishiya takes another cookie.

"Can we sponsor Arisu and Usagi? For a house?"

"We? It's my money."

"But can we? What if we all go live in the same neighborhood? No, wait— in the same street! We should be neighbors!"

Chishiya presses his lips together. "I already thanked the Game Masters for finally separating me from them."

"You're so rude! They're your friends! And who even are the Game Masters?"

"No idea. They're dead now anyway." Chishiya swallows his third cookie away. "And I will not sponsor anyone, just so you know. My money."

"Okay, okay. Though I did consider getting a full body massage, so—"

"How much is it?"

Baya immediately bursts out laughing. "Why do you want to sponsor that?"

"Because that's way more important than Arisu and Usagi's homelessness," he says flatly. "You know, body massages are—"

"I don't want to know." She shuts him up with a long kiss that leaves them both surprised. "Have you texted Aguni and Kuina yet? I want to see them so badly."

"Yes, I texted a few hours ago. But it's three AM right now, so don't expect a reply just yet."

"Three AM?!" She jumps beneath the covers. "Get the cookies out of bed! We need to sleep."

Chishiya lets out a reluctant grunt but obeys, setting the last cookie pack on the nightstand with exaggerated care. "You act like you weren't the one who brought them here."

"I was emotionally vulnerable," Baya says from under the covers. "Also, I didn't think you'd eat all of them."

"I didn't. Yet."

He slides under the blanket beside her, pulling it up to his chest as the room goes quiet for a moment. Baya wiggles close, her hand finding his. Their fingers lace together without a word.

"Hey, Chishiya?"

"Hm."

"If I ever die first, I want you to keep my candle collection. And my pillows. And my fruit bowl. Especially the fruit bowl."

"You're not dying first," he replies instantly, and without humor. "You're outliving everyone."

Another beat passes. Her voice softens. "I used to think I wouldn't make it past twenty-five," she murmurs. "Back in the black market, none of us thought we'd get old. And even in the Borderlands, it just felt like... dying was always closer than anything else. But now—"

She pauses. Chishiya doesn't interrupt.

"Now I'm picking curtains."

He turns his head, eyes meeting hers in the dark. He reaches over and gently cups her jaw, brushing his thumb across her cheek.

"You're safe now."

"I'm glad it's with you," she whispers.

Chishiya leans forward to press a kiss to her forehead. "Me too."

Outside, the world keeps turning. Somewhere down the road, Aguni is probably snoring, as well as Ann and Heiya. Kuina is doing her hair. Arisu is trying to teach Usagi a game. And there will be breakfast, and plans, and maybe a ridiculous neon pillow delivery that Chishiya won't approve of.

When Baya is close to dozing off, she catches sight of a shooting star. Not a real one, but a vision seen in her almost-sleep. In her almost-dream.

"I saw a shooting star. Make a wish," she whispers. "Even though it wasn't a real one. But that's okay. Half of our relationship evolved in a fake world."

Chishiya hums. She expects a half-hearted reply, or maybe even no reply at all. Instead, he says, "I wish Yuzuki would permanently call me Shuntarō from now on, and that she stays for even more than sixty years. Even if rent runs out."

Her heart melts. "I wish the same."

"So say it, then."

Baya opens her eyes, piercing them directly through his. "Okay." She squeezes his hand and gently presses her lips to his. They brush together for a few seconds. Against his mouth, she murmurs, "Shuntarō," and the name vibrates between them.

He smiles so widely that the kiss slips away and Baya is too shocked to move for a moment.

"And lastly, I wish for the entire universe to know that sleeping next to Shuntarō is warmer than anything else," Baya decides.

"And I'll always find Yuzuki. Because of her warmth."